


If You Love Me I'll Love You Too

by Carsonian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Consensual Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Violence, Omega Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 00:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carsonian/pseuds/Carsonian
Summary: Starrk hands Steven a knife, leatherbound and strong, to fulfill the rite. The Alpha must go first. Steven takes Anthony’s hand, slices a clean line across the palm.“And in the sharing of blood, I am become yours.” Steven recites.Anthony takes the knife and returns the favour.“And in the sharing of blood,” He looks up, eyes dark and unfathomable, “I am become yours.”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 136





	If You Love Me I'll Love You Too

Steven Hrothgars of the Brooklynites is bonded to Anthony Starrk, formerly of the Manhattenites, in the stuffy air of Spring.

It had not been Steven’s desire to bond. Perhaps in the daydream moments of childhood, he had thought of a family, future pups and a home high in the country. Now, he thinks of the future only over maps and battle plans.

As he stands next to the omega, listening to the elder Starrk recite the bonding rites, he rearranges his plans. He hadn’t accounted for an omega, and the new traveling companion means they will likely to have to delay the charge into Boston.

Then again, Steven thinks, tasting the pungent fear in the man by his side, perhaps it would be kinder to leave him at base.

Starrk finishes before Steven can decide, his eyes like the dark glint of stone as he looks over Steven and his son.

When he was a pup, Steven’s mother told him that the Manhattenites were the most resourceful pack, had prospered in famine and war through their cleverness and knowledge.

As Steven turns to face the omega, he can’t help but think, somewhat derisively, that a pack that would sell their son for peace is no pack worth emulating. Anthony must see this in his expression for his eyes shift downwards in a calculated attempt at demureness. It surprises Steven enough that he blinks to Starrk.

Starrk hands Steven a knife, leatherbound and strong, to fulfill the rite. The Alpha must go first. Steven takes Anthony’s hand, slices a clean line across the palm.

“And in the sharing of blood, I am become yours.” Steven recites.

Anthony takes the knife and returns the favour.

“And in the sharing of blood,” He looks up, eyes dark and unfathomable, “I am become yours.”

....

“I will fight you.” Anthony announces, almost impudently.

Steven pauses from rearranging the animal furs that make up his bed, “Why would we fight?”

“I will not easily let you take me.”

“Take you?” Steven asks.

“Fuck me, shove your knot in me, whichever description you prefer.” Anthony firms his jaw, “I will not be taken willingly. If you want me, you will have to force it.”

Steven drops the furs, walking forward until he can comfortably meet Anthony’s eyes. To his credit, Anthony doesn’t shift back.

“I understand that.” Steven begins, “You do not need to concern yourself over being taken against your will.”

He returns to the animal furs. When he feels Anthony’s gaze still pressing at him, he looks back to meet the disquieted omega’s eyes.

“Is it so straightforward?” Anthony asks, almost accusingly.

“Should it not be?” Steven retorts.

“It should.” Anthony furrows his eyebrows, “But it rarely is.”

“Well, you may consider this that rare instance.” Steven says.

“May we speak freely?” Anthony asks, abrupt after a moment’s silence.

“Please.” Steven calls back, removing his scalemail.

“How am I to trust you?” Anthony asks.

Steven faces his omega, noting how his eyes skip over Steven’s bare chest before flickering back to his face. There is interest there, at least physical. But Steven isn’t naive enough to assume that amounts to much, in the imbalanced context of their bonding.

“I do not know.” Steven says, honestly, “But I suppose I will earn it.”

“You will earn it?” Anthony’s gaze darkens, “And you are so sure of this?”

“If I am worthy of it, I will.” Steven replies.

“And what am I to do while you earn it?” Anthony asks.

“Make yourself useful.” Steven suggests.

“What?” Anthony sputters.

“No one in this pack is without responsibility, a role.” Steven says, “If you are to stay, you must find a way to contribute.”

“Like what?” Anthony asks.

“Healing, sewing, cooking.” Steven throws out.

“Those are all traditionally omega duties.” Anthony notes.

 _Huh_. Steven hadn’t meant to do that.

“That’s true.” Steven says, “But you’re not bound to those if you have another skill.”

It is only later, after Anthony has hesitatingly crawled into the furs next to Steven, still far enough that Steven could reach an arm out and not feel the omega’s body heat, that he speaks up.

“Building.” Anthony says, belligerence making the word sharp.

“What?” Steven had been close to drifting off.

“I am good at building.” Anthony clarifies, tone still clipped.

“Building...what?” Steven asks, turning to face the omega. Anthony doesn’t meet his gaze.

“Anything.” Anthony says, and then hurriedly adds, “Filtration systems, prosthetics, tools for healing and cooking.”

“Weapons, too, I gather?” Steven asks.

Anthony doesn’t respond to that.

“You will not be made to build anything you don’t want to.” Steven awkwardly reassures, “I believe Pepper will be satisfied enough with some new tools for cooking.”

“If you are worthy of it, I will build those too.” Anthony says, tone both cutting and unsure.

Steven blinks for a moment.

"Okay." Steven says, and then makes a point to laugh, quick and hearty, into the dark. Anthony relaxes, almost imperceptibly, to Steven's right. 

....

The first time Steven notices it, he thinks the omega is simply bored.

Anthony certainly plays the role of bored, impertinent omega with ease. It would be a perfect disguise were it not for his keen interest in their battle meetings, discussions where Steven’s grown accustomed to him sitting by his side, silent but ever-watchful.

Steven thought familiarity with the pack would make him speak, but even as Anthony develops a hesitant acquaintance with Bucky and uncanny understanding with Natasha, he remains quiet during the meetings.

Steven could leave it alone. He has no need for another voice on the table, and Anthony doesn’t have any real fighting experience.

But there is something to the sharpness in the omega’s increasingly quicksmiling eyes that intrigues him.

“Why do you attend the battle meetings?” Steven asks one night, as Anthony scrubs himself down in the corner tub.

They haven’t fucked in the month Anthony has been in the pack. Anthony doesn’t want it, hasn’t shown any need for it, and Steven will not push him into it. Even now, he makes sure to not look beyond the safe canyon of Anthony’s shoulders.

Steven has made no effort to be modest within their tent, can’t afford to be worried about nudity with the little time they have to maintain hygiene.

Anthony had conceded after a week, when Steven had managed to pass whatever test had confirmed for Anthony that he wouldn’t jump him the second he took off his furs. He’s no longer skittish about nudity, has maintained conversations with Steven while both were nude without outward nervousness.

“Do you not want me to?” Anthony retorts, cupping his hands in the water.

“No,” Steven says, “As I said you when you first asked, it is your right to attend and contribute to such meetings, as my omega.”

“So what’s the problem?” Anthony splashes water onto his face.

“You’re not contributing.” Steven says, bluntly.

Anthony tilts his head, blinking water off his eyelashes.

“I’m not saying you have to,” Steven adds, hurriedly, “But I only ask because you seem to have ideas --”

“How would you know that?” Anthony cuts in, voice bitter.

Steven pauses.

“I – I’m sorry.” Anthony shakes his head, “That was out of line.”

“What is the matter here, Anthony?” Steven asks.

Anthony takes his time getting out of the water, draping cloths over his waist. Steven keeps his eyes on the omega’s face. Anthony makes his way over to Steve’s side, sitting down on the furs.

“I do have ideas.” Anthony admits, hushed.

“Then say them.” Steven prompts.

“It is not so simple.” Anthony laughs, mocking and dry. It is not a pleasant sound.

“What’s complicated about it?” Steven asks.

“I have ideas, I have always had ideas.” Anthony begins, “But no one wants to take orders from an omega. I have learned that.”

“That isn’t how we do things here.” Steven says.

“I know,” Anthony’s eyes shift away for a moment, “You aren’t anything like I expected, none of you are.”

“But I am --” Anthony frowns as he continues, “I am not sure if I fit here, with all of you. I don’t have the experience. I haven’t fought, not truly. How could I speak amongst warriors?”

“But you have ideas?” Steven asks, “Of strategy?”

“And some.” Anthony says.

“Tell me.” Steven asks.

Anthony’s lips form a little moue, eyebrows furrowed. It is an endearing look on him, and Steven raises his hand to rub at the space between the omega’s eyebrows. Anthony permits the touch with a soft sigh.

“What if I’m wrong?” Anthony says, quietly.

“Then I will tell you.” Steven replies, “But no one’s right all the time. I certainly am not.”

“That’s not what you said to Fury.”

“Well, Fury isn’t my omega, thank the heavens.” Steven brightens when Tony laughs, confident and high, at the joke.

“But you will be honest with me,” Anthony pleads, “Excepting that I am your omega. You will be honest with me as a leader to his follower.”

“No,” Steven replies, and before Anthony can deflate, adds, “Because you are not my follower. I could not treat you as such.”

Steven cups Anthony’s hands in his, noting the roughness of his skin against the clean olive tones of Anthony’s fingers.

“I will speak to you as a leader to another.”

“But I am not the --”

“Yes, you are.” Steven jostles Anthony’s hands a little, in his grip, “You are. I am the leader of this pack, and you are my omega. We are equals.”

“How can you say that?” Anthony’s breathless, “No one believes that.”

“I do.” Steven says, “And you must too. The pack certainly does.”

“It is a dangerous thing to believe.” Anthony asks, “For an omega. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Steven says.

“I think you believe that you do.” Anthony replies, “But if it goes to hell, as it often does, I will be the one burning.”

“I would not let you burn.” Steven says.

Anthony leans back, hands slipping out of Steven’s grip. “So it’s here.”

Steven makes a questioning noise.

“You are asking me to trust you, again.” Anthony says.

Steven waits.

Anthony looks him over, perceptive eyes roaming his face, his shoulders, his torso.

Steven, unwillingly almost, feels a quiet anticipation straighten his back.

“I will.” Anthony speaks finally, “I will trust you.”

Steven breathes out.

“Thank you.” He says, finally.

“But there is something I must also ask of you.” Anthony continues, “Between us, I request that you call me Tony.”

“Tony?” Steven asks.

“It is the name people close to me used.” Anthony says, “Before.”

“Between us, then,” Steven agrees with a smile. "You will call me Steve."

Anthony smiles, "Steve."

Steven falters.

Anthony leans in.

“Now, I don’t think a siege on the eastern Hydra base will work. They’re a complete fortress, have spent years building walls, are well-equipped to handle any siege.”

“So what would you suggest?” Steven asks, something unfamiliar blooming in his chest. Something that tastes like the rapid heartbeat of a rabbit before it’s killed.

Tony grins, wicked and open. “We ruin their communication routes, force them to shut down, then break through the the gate. A direct attack before they can properly mobilise.”

“How would we break through the gate?”

“Well, I have this idea, it’s a – hmm, I guess you could call it a Jericho.”

....

Steven has not felt such rage in a while, the kind that licks into your head and blurs all thought. The kind that led him charging across York, that had him bring a shield over Schmidt’s face until it was left in discarded lumps.

He enters the tent with that sight lingering behind his eyes.

“Anthony.” Steven calls.

Anthony startles from where he’s leaned over his workstation, goggles still on his face.

“Steven?”

“Anthony, you will explain yourself,” Steven fists his hands when Anthony doesn’t move, “Now.”

“What is going on?” Anthony scowls.

“You are the Carver’s brother.” Steven says.

Anthony stills.

“Omega, you are the Carver’s brother, is this not true?” Steven repeats, voice more Alpha than human.

Anthony moves in a quick flurry, removing his goggles.

“What?” Anthony says.

“Do not play dumb.” Steven snarls.

“Fine, fine, stop yelling.” Anthony retorts, and then exhales, “Yes, Gregory is my brother.”

“You did not think to tell me?” Steven asks, anger sharpening the words into blades.

Anthony flinches, “I wanted to --”

“I had to find out from Hammer,” Steven leans forward and holds Anthony in place when he tries to turn away, “I had to find out from that venomous prick that my omega’s brother is the very man I have been after for the past few months, the man who burned down and killed thirty of my people!”

He finishes on a yell, and Anthony looks up at him, eyes darker than Steven’s seen them.

“Get your hand off me.” Anthony says, angrily.

“What?” Steven asks.

“Get your fucking paw off me,” Anthony repeats.

Steven scrunches his face, and grips Anthony’s shoulder, “You will not condescend --”

“You will not touch me in anger.” Anthony spits into Steve’s face.

Steven reels back, hands jumping to behind his back. His face feels numb for a moment, everything seeming to prickle as the rage leaves his body, a flood that leaves him hollow and shocked.

“I did not --” Steven says, throat suddenly raw, “I would not.”

Anthony has walked back, and is gazing downwards.

“I wanted to tell you. I didn’t realise at first, who the Carver was. It was only when rumours of the virus became known that I recognised his handiwork.” Anthony finally looks up, and his eyes are far away, remembering, “We’re not close, see. As kids, he was a visionary, the smartest in the family, and just as heartless and vicious. When he presented, he was sent to the Western Seas for his education, and I never saw him again.”

“I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know what to say. He’s my brother, but what do I know of him? And what could I offer you? The more I thought about it, the more confused I got.” Anthony smiles, a remorseful creature, “But you’re right. I should have told you the moment I realised. I’m sorry.”

Steven sits down on the floor, crosses his legs.

“I did not mean to use my force on you.” He says, looking up, “I was wrong to do that. I was upset, I still am but – I swore not to hurt you. I have broken that.”

“No, Steve,” Anthony patters forward, “That is not – you have not broken anything.”

“I hurt you, did I not?” Steven asks.

“You were in a rage.” Anthony says, “And you stopped before you could hurt me, truly.”

“I still scared you.” Steven says, hollow.

“For a moment,” Anthony concedes, “And I have broken your trust for not telling you my brother was your enemy.”

“For a moment only.” Steven says, “And I understand, though I wish you had told me earlier, if only to not make me a fool in front of Hammer.”

“That is valid enough.” Anthony nocks his eyebrow, “Though how he knows is beyond my understanding.”

“Perhaps our intelligence network needs bolstering.” Steven suggests, “I will have to speak to Natasha.”

“Perhaps it is possible we are not infallible.” Anthony adds wryly.

“True enough.” Steven responds.

Anthony smiles, before tracing Steven’s cheeks in a careful gesture, “Please forgive me.”

“Forgiven.” Steven replies, “Forgive me?”

“Forgiven.” Anthony echoes.

....

Steven drags Stane by the bulge of his neck, taking the rocky, jutting path to where Anthony is watching. His omega’s eyes track Steven’s movements even as his hands shake in stilted, slight moments.

Steven comes to a stop at Anthony’s feet, kicking Stane down next to him. The man groans, thick and choked. Steven gives Anthony a bloody, hard smile.

“Here he is, omega.” Steven calls, voice raised to reach his soldiers, poised at the camp’s boundaries. He wants them to know what this is. “I have brought this scum to you, and now you must take action.”

“Steve,” Anthony breathes, panic clear in his voice, “What – Why?”

“Winter.” Steven flicks his head, “Take watch.”

Bucky moves from his place behind Anthony’s shoulder, puts his knee over Stane’s back, and leans forward to mutter at the man.

Steven walks over to Anthony, who promptly reaches out and grips Steven’s forearms.

“Please.” Anthony says, looking up, “Tell me what to do.”

His dirt-brown eyes, now a tint so familiar to Steven, shine with tears.

“You are my omega,” Steven tilts his head to meet Anthony’s frenetic gaze, “You are mine.”

“And everything of mine, is yours. My territories, my people, my body, yes, and also my duty. You have shared in my burdens as I have shared in yours, shared in my responsibilities as I have shared in yours.”

Anthony inhales, sharp in the enclave of Steven’s arms. He understands where this is going, Steven knows, his omega has always been quicker than the best of them.

“This is not my justice to enforce.” Steven finishes.

“Shouldn’t justice be impersonal?” Anthony argues, weakly.

“It is personal for all of us now.” Steven narrows his eyes, “Do you think it would be impersonal for me?”

“You’ve already made a mess of him,” Anthony glances at the squirming man, “What did you do?”

“I hunted him. He was working for the Carver.” Steven replies.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Anthony asked.

“You wanted freedom.” Steven asked, “You asked for it. Here it is, best I can offer.”

Anthony watches him for a long, thoughtful moment. Steven returns his gaze, open even as he worries that the brutality will be too much, that Anthony will see something in him that he can not accept. After a while, Anthony leans up, presses a soft, wet kiss to the bleeding line Stane had drawn over Steve’s ear. It is the first time has kissed Steve, anywhere.

“I will do this.” Anthony says quietly, “But it is my choice. I wish that you acknowledge this. You did not force or pressure me. I chose to do this of my own – of my own free will.”

“I acknowledge this.” Steven replies. He wants to say more, to reassure Anthony, but his omega is iron now, gaze drawn and clean in the summer air.

Anthony moves to Stane. Bucky takes out his sword, a long and heavy beast of silver, forged by Anthony himself. He hands it to him, stepping back.

Stane looks up, eyes like a snake’s as he greedily drinks in Anthony.

“My boy,” Stane drawls, “I had not thought we would meet again.”

“He’s not yours.” Steven interjects, stalking forward and leaning down close enough that he can feel the smirking man’s putrid breath on his jaw.

“If it were up to me,” Steven whispers, “I would cut your knot off and make you choke on it. Parade the hills with your guts as a necklace.”

He walks back.

Anthony assumes his position over Stane’s.

“I have nothing to say to you, but this.” Anthony says, hands and face steady even as his eyes leak, “You lived as a coward, traitor and parasite. Now, you will die being recognised as such.”

Stane’s eyes widen, the fool not having predicted this moment.

Bucky had worked with Anthony in the past few months, training him in the art of dueling, in the dance of swords. While Anthony isn’t a master yet, the arc of his sword is clean as it swings through the air, and the aim true as it lands neatly at the flesh of Stane’s neck.

There is blood, gushing over the rocks and grass. Steven pulls Anthony back by the elbow so it doesn’t land on him.

His soldiers cheer behind him, a sick happiness flowing out at the death of a long-standing tyrant. Normally, Steven would condemn such a display, but he can’t quite overcome his own perverse satisfaction. Bucky notes this, and ever-reliable, whistles at the soldiers. The sound cuts off and the noise of soldiers dispersing starts up.

Soon, there is silence.

Anthony’s eyes are fixed on Stane’s head, dislodged. The scum’s eyes are open, still in that surprised expression.

“Good work, little goose.” Bucky rasps, “Now I’ll be needing my sword.”

Anthony hands the sword over, numbness seeming to fill his gaze, a vacancy Steven recognises.

“Anthony,” Steven rumbles, and then when Anthony turns in to his chest, “Tony.”

“I don’t regret it.” Anthony says, defiantly.

“It would be alright if you did. You may blame me.”

“I am not, and I will not.” Anthony speaks into Steven’s chest, “I told you, I chose to do it.”

“That doesn’t mean it can’t feel bad.” Steven responds, arm curving over Anthony’s waist, bringing the omega closer to him.

“Yes,” Anthony says, “Yes.”

He weeps, quiet and broken into Steve’s heart. Bucky sheathes his sword, and after a quick lookat Steve, moves into camp, dragging Stane’s corpse, detached head under his arm and body being dragged by the leg.

Steven rocks Anthony, the way an omega would to a pup, slow and constant. They stay there, Steven content to hold Anthony in his arms and let his tears be lost in Steven’s tunic.

After a few minutes, Anthony shifts back. His nose is red, and his eyelashes darkened with wetness, but his gaze when it meets Steven’s is dignified.

“Thank you.” Anthony speaks.

Steven blinks.

“Thank you for hunting him, and for letting me kill him.” Anthony clarifies, “You’ve given me freedom.”

“You asked me for it.” Steven says, simply.

“Yes,” Anthony nods, “But you did not have to do this. So I thank you.”

“You are my omega.” Steven replies.

Anthony laughs, quicksilver in the wind, and broken by the hoarseness of his tears. Steven can’t help responding to it, smiling helplessly back. Anthony notices this and his grin quietens, shifting into something more shy, infinitely warm.

“And it is rather startling,” Anthony says, “But I confess I have come to like it.”

....

Steven isn’t surprised to see Anthony enter the tent. He had told Bucky to warn him to rest in Natasha’s tent tonight. But Anthony has proven himself to be someone who doesn’t take anything at face value, seeks out the very thing that seasoned warriors would turn around at.

Steven tells him this, and Anthony laughs incredulously.

“That’s very rich coming from you, Alpha.” Anthony says, and Steven knows the “Alpha” is purposeful, an attempt to soothe Steven’s sharp edges.

It isn’t ineffective, and Steven bolsters himself in annoyance.

“You’re going to give me a complex if you keep using that to manipulate my emotions.” Steven remarks.

Anthony’s smile twists at that. “I wasn’t trying to manipulate you.”

“Perhaps not consciously.” Steven concedes, “But you know how it affects me, and you use it only when you think I pose a danger.”

“That is not --” Anthony scowls, “How could it possibly be manipulation if you’re completely aware of what I’m supposedly doing?”

“I’m not mad at you, Anthony.” Steven says, “It’s not even that upsetting, really. Lets me know when I need to reel it back. But it is disappointing, sometimes.”

“Disappointing?”

“I only hear it in a negative context.” Steven shrugs.

Anthony stares at him, wide-eyed for a moment, before groaning in a long, whining note.

“You are such a knothead.” Anthony says, “Good heavens, how did I miss this?”

“You were throwing a fit – rightfully, of course – but nonetheless, a fit, about not being touched. What was I to say?” Steven asks, good-humouredly.

“I don’t know.” Anthony draws out, breaking into a laugh at the end. Steven joins him, and it feels light, for a moment, in him.

“I’m not pressuring you, by the way.” Steven adds.

Anthony smiles sweetly. “I know that, Steve.”

They sit for a few moments, basking in the hope that lingers from their banter.

There have been looks, tentative and careful from Anthony towards Steven. He has hesitated to respond, not wanting to spook the omega when he’s just beginning to enjoy Steven’s company. But it’s difficult, infinitely more now that Steven has been let in, exposed to the fullness of Anthony’s personality, his thoughts, his fears. It makes him lovelier, real and complex and untouchable.

And the canyon between what Steven wants and what he accepts grows ever wider. He is patient, though, in this. Or at least, willing to be. All his life, he’s chased down Hydra, fueled by rage and grit. He’s done things with his hands that he could never admit to his mother, has a capacity for violence that scares him. With Anthony, though, he wants something different. Something kind. Something that will last.

That means waiting.

“I came here to comfort you.” Anthony says, after a while. Steven hadn’t told him to leave. He’d known the omega wouldn’t leave, and if he were being honest honest, he hadn’t wanted him to leave.

“I don’t need comforting.” Steven says.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Anthony replies, immediately.

“Anthony.” Steven warns, “Don’t ask about things you can't know.”

“Why not?” Anthony asks. “I share things with you.”

“Are we keeping count?” Steven asks.

“No.” Anthony retorts, “Maybe. I don’t know! I mean, you’re the one who’s so adamant on us being equals, but you never speak to me, not about yourself or your worries or how you feel. And I care about you, so it hurts. That you don’t trust me like that.”

Anthony finishes awkwardly, skin reddening slightly, the tint only barely noticeable on his olive skin.

“You think I don’t trust you.” Steven frowns.

Anthony shrugs helplessly. “Not wholly.”

“You don’t trust me wholly, either.” Steven points out.

“But I trust you with the hardest things.” Anthony argues, “The ugly things, about me.”

“And you, what? Want to see my ugliness?” Steven asks.

“I want to see you. I want to know you.” Anthony clarifies.

“You don’t know what you want.” Steven replies.

“Oh, fuck you.” Anthony whips back.

Steven winces, and then reaches out to touch Anthony’s shoulder. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“Yes, it did.” Anthony replies.

Steven’s mind is racing, trying to stitch this revelation with what he knows. The week after Stane’s death, Anthony had been quiet, almost distant. Steven had worried that he’d shown him too much of his darkness, and Anthony didn’t want any part of it. But the week had passed, and Anthony had been normal again. Steven had been giddy with relief, had told himself he would be patient from then on. He wouldn’t push Anthony again.

He would gladly wait, he would. But maybe that isn’t what Anthony wants now?

“The truth is,” Steven offers, voice low. Anthony blinks back at him in surprise. “I don’t think you’ll want me if you see me for what I am.”

“What?” Tony asks, confusion smearing his expression.

“Who I am,” Steven says, “Is someone who decided, one day, that he would purge this world of Hydra and has spent the eight years since then, fulfilling that promise at every expense. I have killed, tortured, lied, cheated.”

“Maybe I started off with a vision, with hope and dreams of a brighter future, but years of battle have scraped that youth off. And now, I am just a shell, triggered into action only by the rage in me. What I want with you, what I dream – it can not work if you have to, to deal with that. So yes, I hide and I keep things to myself. But it isn’t because I don’t trust you, only that I couldn’t stand it if you found me lacking.”

The words run out, and Steven is horrified in their wake.

“You’re full of bullshit.” Anthony says.

Steven flinches, pulling away. Anthony follows him with shushing noises, eventually scrambling onto Steven’s lap to keep him pinned.

“I’m sorry,” Anthony rushes, hands reaching out to Steven’s cheeks, where a few tears have spilled, “I’m sorry, I don’t – Steve, I’m sorry, please don’t cry.”

“I’m not.” Steven says obstinately, breathing in deep and holding it.

“Okay, okay, you’re not, fine,” Tony shakes his head, as if to clear it, “No, I only meant – you’re not anything like what you’re saying. There’s so much good in you, Steve, please listen to me, there is. You are a good person, and a great Alpha.”

“I know that.” Steven says.

“Do you, are you just placating me?”

Steven stays quiet.

“Yeah, well, the bit about you having no hope or dreams is false too. Do you think the pack would follow if you were a shell? Do you think Natasha would stay with us if she thought you weren’t worth it?”

Anthony pauses, “For that matter, do you think I would stay if I didn’t think you were worth it?”

“Well, you didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.” Steven can’t help but say.

“Maybe, maybe when we bonded.” Anthony admits, “But I had three escape plans within the first month. I could have definitely left.”

“But you didn’t.” Steven says, “Why?”

“When you asked for my ideas.” Anthony says, “I guess, I never realised how much I wanted to be heard. And you listened, and you didn’t smother or patronise me about it. I thought maybe it could work out.”

“That early?” Steven is surprised.

“Granted it took me a while to actually realise it,” Anthony rolls his eyes at himself, “But I definitely felt conflicted after that.”

Steven boldly moves his hands down Anthony’s back, resting at his waist. Anthony shivers at the sensation, but doesn’t move away. Steven relishes that.

“And how do you feel now?” Steven asks.

“Open to the possibility of a relationship of equal standing.” Anthony says.

“Did you memorise that?” Steven teases.

“There may have been a few conversations with Natasha,” Anthony sighs, “She’s terrifyingly persistent.”

“Yes, she is,” Steven says, “I would love that.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” Steven says, “Haven’t I made it obvious?”

“Sometimes, I thought you would welcome it,” Anthony says honestly, “And then other times you would seem so far away that I thought myself foolish.”

The canyon.

“I didn’t mean to be.” Steven says, apologetically.

“I know,” Anthony says, “But do you see what I mean?”

“Yes, I think I do.” Steven says. He rests his temple on Anthony’s chest, breathing in the smell of sweat, leather and oil on his omega.

“It may take some time.” Steven says, “I’m not used to...talking about things.”

When Anthony doesn’t immediately respond, Steven lifts his head. Anthony isn’t smiling but there’s a bright joy in his eyes.

“I can wait.” Anthony says.

Steven is anchored.

...

“Three escape plans? Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“...Tell me what they were.”

“You’re just going to poke holes in the strategy.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh, Alpha, you most definitely would.”

“You dirty cheat.”

...

“Fuck!” Steven curses, jolting upwards.

“Oh, oops.” Anthony says, cheerfully, pulling thread through the gaping stretch of bloody flesh on Steven’s shoulder.

“You are cruel.” Steven pants.

“More or less cruel than you charging off after Zemo?” Anthony teases, “Because my heart felt that it was being taken clean out of my chest.”

“It worked out, didn’t it?” Steven grumbles, “Brought him down easy. No proper footwork, that one.”

“He got your shoulder good.” Anthony points out, eyes on Steven’s shoulder as he pokes the needle in.

“It was a lucky blow.” Steven says.

“Hmm.” Anthony responds, tying up the string in a neat loop.

He picks up the salve, and starts applying it liberally over Steven’s shoulder.

Steven hisses at the rough texture of the salve, raking over his skin.

Anthony pauses, eyes meeting Steven’s. “Is the pain truly so bad?”

Steven’s breath catches at the quiet worry in Anthony’s eyes, apparent now only because Anthony has let it be seen. It is a more frequent sight now; Anthony letting him see how he actually feels, blooming like a flower only in Steven's direction. His breath still falters every time.

“Better now.” Steven manages.

Anthony smiles, as if he can read Steven’s mind. He finishes putting on the salve and then goes to wash his hands.

Steven watches him go, transfixed, slightly pain-drunk and thrumming from the battle.

Anthony’s movements seem more svelte in the night, shadows from the amber lamp flitting across the walls, dancing over Anthony’s body.

Anthony returns to sit by Steven, body adjacent to his.

“That was a good speech.” Anthony says.

Steven looks at his side profile; the solemn curve of his nose, the arch of his forehead.

“Did you mean it,” Anthony shifts to face him, “What you’re going to do to Hydra?”

“Yes, of course.” Steven replies. "I told you I decided this long ago."

“It is a risky declaration to make.” Anthony says, “They outpower us, ten to one.”

“Hydra have wreaked havoc on the world for too long.” Steven says, “And, there was a time I didn’t know of them, didn't know who was the cause of all that pain in my childhood. Now that I do, I can not look away. Some days, I wish I could.”

“No, you don’t.” Anthony says, quiet and firm.

“No, I don’t.” Steven agrees after a moment.

Anthony smiles at the admission, a curling, slow movement that transforms his face. It is a wonderous, disarming thing to witness.

Steven inhales.

Anthony observes this, and the smile grows brighter, knowing.

“Okay,” Anthony says, “Alpha.”

Steven swallows, “Huh?”

Anthony shifts, and in a gentle breath, kisses Steven. They press together for a few moments, just their lips meeting for a stretch.

Then, Steven tilts his head and presses forward. Anthony opens his mouth readily, and Steven licks into the warm, wet heat of him. Steven kisses Anthony slowly, languorous in exploring him. Anthony trembles under him, hand coming to clutch Steven’s neck belatedly. Steven responds by wrapping his good arm around Anthony’s waist, bringing him into his chest.

“Cap, prisoner count’s over --” Bucky breaks off.

Steven pulls away from Anthony, and is gratified when Anthony follows his lips with a dazed expression.

“Bucky.” Steven says, “Is this urgent?”

“No.” Bucky says, “Just thought you should be informed. We’ll speak tomorrow, then.”

“Right,” Steven says, and then straightens, “Who’s taking on clean-up?"

“Clint volunteered, surprisingly. Natasha’s actually supervising though.” Bucky huffs.

Anthony rests his forehead on Steven’s chest, and Steven’s eyes widen, stupefied gaze meeting Bucky’s.

The man is grinning, a rare thing these days, and Steven returns it, struck with hope and joy.

“Well, I’d best leave you and the goose to your evening.” Bucky announces, loud and provocative, as he leaves.

“Eat shit, Winter!” Anthony snarks. Steven hides his laugh in Anthony’s hair.

....

Steven whistles, and the eagle drops down to land.

“Oh, good girl, America.” Steven smiles, detangling the letter from America’s claws.

America gives a little high pipe in response.

Steven settles on the oaklog, sitting down to open the letter.

He hears Anthony walk up to him. He’s been taught how to walk like a hunter by Natasha, but he’s unused to it, slips up when he feels safe.

Anthony peers at the letter over Steven’s head.

“What does Samuel say?” Anthony asks.

“Nothing much.” Steven says, “Which is good.”

“Oh, America, come here, sweetheart,” Anthony says, when America scuttles out from the side of the log.

Steven smiles as he watches Anthony sink to his knees to stroke the eagle’s feathers, careful and doting. America whistles, a series of notes that sound like she’s complaining.

Sam’s letter is quite sparse. It is harvest season, so he’s likely busy and only sent the note as an afterthought. This is all good news.

He sighs, standing up. He should give this to Pepper to organise. And he should probably draft a letter to be sent back.

“Anthony, would you feed America?” Steven asks, distractedly, thoughts already on how much of their recent battle he should include. Samuel is good about screening what to tell the pack, but the letter could always be spread. Probably best to be conservative on details.

“And clean her, too.” Anthony adds.

“Yes, thank you.” Steven responds, starting to walk away.

“Steve.” Anthony calls.

The use of his short-name falters Steven’s steps, and he turns questioningly.

“I think my heat is coming up.” Anthony says.

“Oh,” Steven intones, “Um, how soon?”

“Perhaps two weeks. Maybe shorter.” Anthony replies.

“I see.” Steven replies.

“Maybe we can speak on this tonight?” Anthony suggests.

“I – yes, we can.” Steven says.

“I just wanted to, warn you prior, I suppose.” Anthony says, weakly.

“I appreciate that.” Steven says firmly, “Thank you.”

Anthony smiles in response, but it is a smile from his first few weeks with the pack. A false, tight expression. Steven comes closer, and in a quick, uncertain motion, kisses the omega’s cheek.

“It will be fine, Tony.” Steven reassures. “You will be able to choose how to handle this.”

“And what if I want you to help me through my heat?” Anthony asks.

Steven feels surprise, then happiness, in a bright burst of colour.

“I would be honoured.” He says, in the end.

Now, there’s a real smile, spreading over the omega’s lips like a benediction.

“Okay then,” Tony says coyly, “We’ll talk tonight.”

“Tonight.” Steven promises.

....

Steven’s only brought his best with him; Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Thor, Bruce. They all huddle in the underbush, wet and miserable after the sticky downpour in the afternoon. Thor surpasses the bush in stature and is crouched behind a tree trunk, looking like a misplaced statue.

Clint sniffs the air.

“Smoke’s on.” He says, “Dinner’s getting made.”

“They’ll be concentrated in the hall, only castle guards across the parapet. It’s the best time to strike.” Natasha says.

Steven nods. “Clint, Nat. Get rid of the castle guards, quietlike. Lift the gates, as low as you can get and still let us through. Stay at the gates, keep suspicion low. Thor and Bruce – you’re on backup. Engage as a distraction if things go south. Cut them down, no need to be considerate. Bucky and I will infiltrate through the moat, search for him.”

He goes through the plan, not because they need reminding, but because his brain needs something to ready against.

“Our priority is getting Anthony back. Everything else comes secondary.”

Steven and Bucky make their way to the castle, slinking through the bushes, keeping to the shadows. They stop at the edge of the moat, watching the guards in the parapet. They’re jovial, drinking out of flasks, gazes turned to each other instead of outwards. They’ve grown accustomed to peace, are lax with arrogance.

“Lucky bastards.” Bucky snarks, quietly. Steven agrees.

He turns his gaze to the gate. He’d had to rely on hearsay for a layout of the castle, maids and guards that Natasha had scouted out in a frenzy. Based on that, they’d made an educated guess that Anthony was being kept in the West wing, in the barracks with the prisoners. Steven works through the route in his head again. It’s either that or think of Anthony, and that’ll lead him to spiral into thinking of what’s happened to him, whether he’s hurt, whether he’s –

There’s a tussle on the parapet, ending in a quick moment with a shadowed figure smashing a bow into the guard’s face. Clint. The other guard yelps, and brings up his sword but is pulled down abruptly. Natasha. Those were the last of the guards, Steven knows, moving forward with Bucky into the moat. He lifts his shield up over his head as they move farther in, and sees Bucky do the same with his sword.

“Cap,” Bucky says, as they reach the gates. There’s an all too familiar tone to that single word, and Steven gives him a quelling look.

“That’s not going to work on me, pisshead.” Bucky says, “You gotta bring it in.”

“I’m level.”

“No, you’re fucking not. And it’s not gonna be pretty if the first thing Anthony sees is you flying into a rage. We don’t know what state he’s in --”

Steven pushes past Bucky to where the gate’s being lifted up, creaky but quieter than they’d hoped.

“Think rationally.” Bucky continues, “We can’t afford to have an emotional moment in there.”

“There won’t be an emotional moment.” Steven cuts in viciously.

“Good.” Bucky replies, letting a bit of his Alpha seep through. It’s ineffective against Steven, so it serves mostly as a reminder.

“I’ll keep us ticking.” Bucky says, “You keep your head straight. For Anthony.”

“Give me a leg up.” Steven says, instead. They both squeeze their way through the gap, getting soot and mud all over their clothes. Bucky swears as he pulls his crossbow through while Steven quickly surveys the interior. Their immediate surroundings are deserted. Bucky comes through and shakes the dirt off, pulling his black mask over his nose. Steven brushes soot off his shield, and his eyes catch on the courtyard, laden with dark sand, muddied and streaked with blood.

The blood unnerves Steven and he turns a sharp corner, starting the route to the barracks. He doesn’t need to turn to know that Bucky is keeping pace behind him, eyes out for anyone following them. They walk quick and silent, uninterrupted through the corridors. The walls are unremarkable, stone, no coverings. Just light fixtures burning in a steady yellow light at the center of each path.

It’s only when they reach the stairs leading to the barracks that they hear a guard’s drawl. He exchanges a look with Bucky, and they move down the stairs, Bucky’s crossbow propped up.

The barracks are a true jail, steel bars running down from the ceiling. There are four visible prisoners, three rough-faced men and a slip of a woman. No sign of Anthony. The guard is, in a stroke of sheer luck, faced away from them. Bucky flips the crossbow and knocks the man out.

“Who are you?” One of the men asks, lilting in an unfamiliar accent.

“We’re here for an omega. Brown-haired, fair. Do you know where he is?”

“Do you mean Ironman?” The same man asks. His skin is rough and speckled, grey from starvation.

“His name is Anthony.” Steven says.

“Oh yeah, that’s Ironman!”

“Where is he? Do you know?”

“He’s a lovely person, tells really clever stories, oh yeah.” The man turns, “I’m right, ay, Miek?”

Steven reaches through the bars and pulls the man forward, hard against the bars. They rattle. He notes Bucky going up the stairs to keep watch.

“I’m not playing.” Steven grits, “Tell me where he is.”

“Aw man, that hurt.” The man winces, “Not nice of you at all.”

“Tell me where he is.” Steven repeats, Alpha dripping from his voice.

“Don’t know, man! The big boss has dinner with him everyday, playing silly games in his room. Can’t tell you where that is, though. Got no clue, honest!”

Steven lets him go, stalking up the stairs.

“We have a plan, here, Cap?” Bucky asks, cautiously.

“Get to the room, get Anthony.” Steven spits out. Rage runs through his body freely, warming his body like a blanket, giving him a sharp, pointed clarity. Bucky sighs behind him, but doesn’t say anything else as they run through the halls, Steven mapping the course to the probable room.

They come across three people on the way; Steven knocks out the alphas cleanly, Bucky gags and ties the matronly omega to the light fixture with her own dress.

When they reach the steel door, Bucky bends down and works at the lock quietly. A minute passes, then two.

“Jammed,” Bucky finally whispers, “We gotta kick it in.”

Steven counts down silently: one, two, three. They both slam against the door, and it breaks off easy. They pour into the room, Steven raising his shield to the edge of his helmet. Bucky’s crossbow is drawn and nocked.

The sight that greets them is unexpected.

Anthony is gagged, tied to a chair, a checkered board with miniature toys on a table between him and the Carver.

So this is Gregory Starrk, Steven thinks, even as his eyes flicker between Anthony and his captor. In face, he’s frighteningly similar in appearance to Anthony. But his body is a broad, tall thing. His hair is a shock of blonde, almost green in tint. He’s a clear Alpha, though the rumours of his exploits blur the credibility of his appearance.

Gregory also doesn’t seem surprised, neatly leans back with an empty grin at their arrival. His eyes when they skate over Steven and Bucky, are that of a vulture’s, catching sight of a carcass.

“Hello boys.” His voice is stripped, nothing to glean.

“Anthony.” Steven says.

Anthony nods his head, steady and calm. He looks unhurt, dirtied but not bloody. A tightness in Steven’s chest, everpresent since they’d found out Anthony had been taken, loosens.

“Now, that’s not polite.” Gregory says, “Not nice to ignore the Alpha here.”

Steven glares at the man, walking forward to pointedly untie Anthony. A foot before he reaches the table, he knocks against a barrier. He startles back, and looks around but there’s nothing visible. He taps his hand against the barrier, and feels Bucky come up. 

“What the hell is this?” Steven asks.

“Now he wants to speak,” Gregory turns to Anthony, “A real conversationalist you’ve got here, brother.”

“Starrk, I’m not playing this game with you.” Steven says.

Bucky shoots the crossbow at the barrier and it pings off. He looks helplessly at Steven, who turns back to the table.

“Aww, good try.” Gregory claps, and then tilts his head at them, “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

“What is it you want?” Steven asks.

“What is it you want?” Gregory parrots.

“Anthony.” Steven states.

“How coincidental, that is the very thing I wish to keep.” Gregory says.

“He isn’t a thing.” Steven snarls, “And he isn’t yours.”

“He is my brother.” Gregory says, “What is he to you?”

“My omega.”

“A bond, sold by my father. False companionship.”

“You do not know anything about us, and our relationship is none of your business.”

“Oh, but you’re wrong, good Captain,” Gregory replies, “It is very much my business.”

Steve shifts his weight. Bucky walks out of the room. Gregory raises an eyebrow, hand reaching under the table. Must be a signal to the guards. There’s a time constraint now. Steven looks to his omega. Anthony’s eyes flicker.

“Why?” Steven asks.

“I,” Gregory begins, imperiously rearranging the strange pieces on the board, “Am of the opinion that my brother is wasted in your company.”

“Wasted.” Steven spits.

“Wasted.” Gregory agrees, “He was bright as a child. Thought in numbers higher than anyone in our cohort, save for me. Pity he was ultimately revealed as the inferior sex. But his mind is still useful enough for my endeavours. And my father never understood it, broke him where he would have been better bent into a shape.”

“A politico, great.” Steven rolls his eyes.

“You think you are a match for him?” Gregory’s eyes remain on the table and the pieces, “Do you know what you have, in company?”

“We were born twins.” Gregory continues before Steven can speak, “And together we could build a stronger world, moulded in our image.”

“Together? Is this what that looks like for you?” Steven growls, “Gagging and tying him, keeping him imprisoned?”

“You have given him foolish notions.” Gregory retorts, “He has come to believe in... liberal ideology. But he will learn. I will re-make him.”

“The Carver.” Steven drawls, “Yes, I have heard of your psychopathy.”

“Feats of ingenuity.” Gregory corrects, “Though I do not expect a warlord like you to understand.

He pushes a small piece to the edge of the board.

“Mate.” Gregory croons to Anthony, “Do you remember playing this move on me?”

Anthony looks on with disdain.

“Of course you don’t.” Gregory says, “It killed me, though. To have you beat me in this, with such a simping grin on your face. I have never hated someone so deeply.”

Gregory turns to Steven, smile vacuous. “He’s my brother. I will keep him.”

Alright, that’s it. Steven has had enough of this obsessive, vulture of a man.

“Avengers assemble.” Steven says to Anthony.

Anthony kicks back against the table, pushing back a good five feet just as the ceiling caves in. Clint and Bucky tackle Gregory, pushing his body onto the floor. Natasha jumps through a moment after, stepping over the clumps of stone and running to Anthony to untie him.

Once freed, Anthony crawls to the corner and bangs at a little device. Natasha hands him the end of her dagger, and he takes it gratefully, pushing it into the latch of the machine. The invisible barrier between them shimmers, flickers of colour appearing and disappearing before the barrier melts away entirely. Steven leaps and rushes to Anthony, who rises to meet him.

Their embrace is a frenzied, passionate scene, lips crawling over each other’s skin, scenting and greeting and reminding.

“Tell me you’re not hurt.” Steven demands.

“I’m not hurt.” Anthony reassures.

Steven clutches the omega’s neck, where Steve’s mating bond rests, gathering all of Anthony towards him. His eyes scour Anthony’s, looking for any pain there. He doesn’t know what he finds, can’t read Anthony’s gaze with the remnants of anger and adrenaline still pulsing in his veins. It agitates him, not knowing even with Anthony in his arms, whether the omega is okay.

Anthony sees what he can not voice, raises his own hand to Steven’s bond in a mirror gesture.

“I’m fine, Steve,” Anthony whispers, “Not here, okay? Let’s go home.”

Steven nods, only realising he’s repeating the motion when Anthony’s hand dislodges from his bond. Steven catches the hand before it falls away, bringing it to his lips, kissing a prayer into the knuckles for a moment.

When he turns to Gregory, he’s the Captain again.

....

Anthony looks pensive, sitting by the pond.

It’s been a few hours. They’re back at camp, having captured Gregory, and at Anthony’s insistence, freed the four prisoners. It had been a feat, getting out of the castle without alerting anyone to their presence, and Thor had eventually had to charge the courtyard with a bloodcurdling roar, playing the role of maddened warlord to perfection. He’d been such a terror that the drunk men and women had still been scrambling for their weapons, weak and stumbling with full bellies, when the titan had leaped back over the castle walls.

Bruce had cackled all the way back to camp, describing the confusion and shock of the men at Thor’s sudden arrival and even more sudden departure. Anthony had laughed along, walking hand-in-hand with Steven, and speaking to the prisoners.

The odd pair, Korg and Miek, had decided to stay with the pack for a few days. The third man had left quietly, when they’d stopped for water. The woman had given Anthony a folded paper and muttered something that had made him smile before also disappearing into the trees.

Steven had shadowed Anthony when they’d reached camp, and the omega had teasingly asked for space to clean up, a wish that Steven had granted only after seeing the desperation in his eyes. He’d left Anthony with a kiss, long and possessive enough that Clint had groaned his disgust from the clearing.

He walks away, feet dragging, making a conscious effort to not look back.

Steven spends the next hour almost pointed in his busyness, ensuring Gregory is guarded by people he trusts. The chilling, dark shade that passes over Gregory’s expression when he sees Steven pass, his eyes following him like a promise, unsettles Steven enough that he arranges Maria, Bucky and Natasha on alternating shifts over the man.

The pack is curious too, drawing near Gregory’s makeshift prison to try and get a glimpse at the infamous Carver. But Thor draws them to the fire with loud wit and charm, has them laughing gregariously over a retelling of his performance at the castle. The especially curious ones – mostly soldiers who’ve fought the past few months against the Carver’s men – linger but Steven has them leave with a few glancing looks.

It has been enough time, Steven reasons – when he can no longer ignore himself circling back to their tent – enough time for Anthony to have cleaned up.

He still walks in tentatively, heart kicking up when he finds the tent empty. He storms back out and is about to call out for Anthony when Happy, wringing out wet clothing, flicks his head to the pond. Steven relaxes.

Anthony looks pensive, sitting by the pond. Steven approaches slowly, notes the moment Anthony feels him coming, the omega turning his head to watch him come nearer with dark eyes. When he’s close enough, Anthony gets up, draws Steven down onto the rock, and then smoothly sits himself on Steven’s knees. Steven wraps his arms around the omega, nuzzling the nape of Anthony’s neck, breathing in his scent and immediately lighter by the assurance of Anthony’s closeness.

“How are you?” Steven asks, “Between us.”

Anthony bows his head, and Steven sucks at the cord of Anthony’s neck. Anthony sighs, breathily, at the touch.

“Between us,” Anthony begins, “Conflicted.”

“Did he do anything to you?” Steven pauses, kissing the reddened skin he’d coloured on Anthony. Anything darker, he’d have to get Anthony’s approval for. He’d learned the hard way that Anthony didn’t like marks being put on him without his awareness.

“Not – not in any way I can say for certain.” Anthony leans back, rests his head over Steven’s shoulder. “I’m not sure I understand it.”

“Let it free,” Steven says, “We’ll pull it apart, make sense of it.”

Anthony laughs, a pained sound that Steven can taste the tightness of. He croons a quiet tune into Anthony’s ear, waits until the omega settles into his touch.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come.” Anthony confesses.

“I’m sorry.” Steven can’t say anything else.

“I don’t want your apologies,” Anthony whispers, “And I don’t blame you, so there better not be any internalised guilt, alright?”

When Steven doesn’t respond, Anthony straightens and cups his neck.

“Alright?” He urges.

“Alright.” Steven lies. There are burdens which are his to carry, and this failure to protect Anthony – his bright, mocking omega who would insist he didn’t need protection – is one he will carry as surely as his oldest failures.

“You’re lying to me,” Anthony smiles, and Steven blinks in surprise, “But it’s fine. I’ll make you believe it.”

“I didn’t realise I was so obvious.” Steven says.

“Only to me,” Anthony says, “And perhaps Bucky. But it took me a while to get there. And a lot of patience.”

“It took me a while to get there with you too.” Steven replies, “Frankly, I still don’t really understand what goes on in that brain of yours.”

“You and everyone, I suppose.” Anthony says, gnawing his lip, “With the exception of Gregory, apparently.”

“What happened?” Steven asks. “With him?”

“All that time, he didn’t physically hurt me. Didn’t touch me at all. He just – said strange things to me,” Anthony says, “Memories from our childhood, but marred. His rage towards me. Ideas of the future. Rambling monologues about genetic superiority. Designs of these bizarre, twisted machines. The things he wanted to do with them, they were...”

Anthony trails off. His eyes are far away, turned to the pond. Steven waits him out.

“I didn’t know, Steve,” Anthony says finally, “I didn’t know you could understand and detest someone at the same time.”

Steven tightens his arms around Anthony, kisses the meat of his shoulder.

“Is it that you understand him that hurts you?” Steven leads him softly.

“It is that I could have been him.” Anthony says, “He’s my twin, my brother, and I could have been him, may have grown to think and act like him, had it not been for – I don’t know! I don’t know what makes him so cold, so devoid of emotion. And if I do not know, how can I be sure that I won’t be – that I won’t end up –”

“Tony, no.” Steven whispers, distraught. “You’re nothing like him. Nothing.”

“That’s not true.” Anthony says, tears falling quick and hot, “You can’t be sure of that.”

“Yes, I can,” Steven replies, “Yes, I can. Alright, look at me, Tony, please.”

Anthony looks at him, tears making the conflict in his eyes clearer. He makes a questioning sound when he sees the tears on Steven's own face.

“You are nothing like him,” Steven says, “And you know how I know that, for a fact?”

“How?”

“Because your instinct is to protect. Whenever you have used your brain and reached your hands out to metal, it has always been to help someone. Me, Bucky, Clint, Nat, _everyone_ in this pack.” Steven says, “Before you knew them, liked them even, you were helping them. That is something Gregory would never think to do.”

“I build weapons too.” Anthony says.

“And have you ever built anything you didn’t know would go to safe, trustworthy hands?” Steven asks.

Anthony quiets at that. Steven wipes the omega’s tears, catching the last few with his sleeve.

Anthony reaches out, curious at the mirrored wetness he finds on Steven’s cheeks. Steven shrugs when Anthony raises an eyebrow at him. The omega gently wipes at his cheeks.

“I don’t know how.” Anthony whispers.

“Don’t know how?”

“How you have so much faith in me.” Anthony explains. “It’s not something I can understand.”

“So there _are_ some things beyond that big brain of yours.” Steven huffs.

Anthony snorts, an abrupt, ugly sound he immediately reddens after. It delights Steven so truly that he can not help but give the omega a smacking kiss that deepens when Anthony pulls him forward. They lose themselves, for a little bit.

The omega is giggling when they break apart. Steven watches him closely, wanting to capture the image.

There had been an evening, two weeks into their hunt for Anthony after he’d been taken, that Steven couldn’t quite recall how Anthony looked laughing. It had frightened him, strongly enough that he’d gone a little rabid. Eventually, he’d required Natasha to pet him for a while, omega pheromenes flooding his senses and settling him even as his bond pulsed in acute betrayal.

It’s hard to remember what that felt like, the forgetting, in the face of Anthony’s laughter, so vivid and bright that it seems the sight will imprint on Steven’s eyes.

....

“Steven,” Anthony gasps, “Steve, Alpha, please.”

“Okay, okay,” Steven reassures, nudging Anthony’s head up, laving at the omega’s bond, soothing him. He pulls back when Anthony whines, high-pitched and pleading.

“Do you want it now?” Steven asks.

Anthony’s head lolls away, eyes bright and dazed. Steven’s cock is aching, hard and leaking.

“You’re in deep, huh, love?” Steven asks, “Alright, omega, I’ll take over here.”

Anthony’s in heat, the second time in the year, three days before Yule. It had blossomed quickly, and Anthony had found him sparring with Bucky. He’d walked up, teasing, eyes dilated and lips bitten to redness. Bucky had seen him first, promptly coughed at the omega pheromones and ran away with his sword clanging against his waist. Steven had grabbed his omega, put him over his shoulder, and ran back to their tent, grinning wildly at how Anthony’s laughter carried in the brisk wind.

Now, Steven rubs his hands quickly, blowing warmth into them before drawing Anthony out of his furs, smoothing his thumbs over the curve of his hipbones. Anthony’s eyes return to Steven’s, and he smiles sweetly.

“Alpha.” He greets, tugs at Steven’s head to bring him down for a kiss. Steven follows easily, licks into Anthony’s mouth. The omega retaliates, and they battle for control a little, Anthony only relenting when Steven reaches to press at the wetness that’s gathered between his legs.

“Cheat.” Anthony giggles.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Steven agrees. Anthony’s deep in it now, only gets so punch-drunk on lust when he’s deeply comfortable and deeply horny. This is something Steven’s learned, after five months of sex. He gets a thrill at this version of Anthony, knows that this state is only because his omega trusts him to take care of him. It’s all Steven’s wanted.

Steven presses against Anthony’s rim, loosened enough that Steven suspects he’d fingered himself before coming to him. He asks Anthony this, and the omega smirks, leaning up to whisper the exact details into Steven’s ears, of how he’d taken himself apart with four fingers -- “Only equaling to two of yours,” Anthony teased -- and then came on his fingertips to the thought of – “Your wide knot keeping me open.” Anthony finishes.

It’s not long after that Steven enters him, not fingering Anthony as extensively as he normally would, keenly aware that the omega likes it just a little bit rougher when he’s in this state, yearns for the feeling of being pulled wider until his body relaxes to accommodate Steven.

(“It feels like I’m being moulded, just for you.” Anthony had whispered, gently.)

He gathers Anthony’s legs high and close, starts moving slowly and deeply, watching Anthony’s face as he pants, before the pleasure really hits him, and he starts moaning, loud and wanton.

Steven smiles, a little smug, and kisses the omega openmouthedly on his gland for a breath, before pushing in harder. Anthony is still tight. Pulling out would be an almost impossible task if it weren’t accompanied with the privilege of pushing back into the hot, wet heat. It’s as if he’s being drawn in, pulled like those little metals, _magnets_ , that Anthony had shown him a month before.

Steven focuses on Anthony’s pleasure as the omega starts writhing on him, consciously pushing down to meet Steven’s cock. He plays with Anthony’s nipples until they pebble, redden in a colour they only seem to get in heat. He licks and kisses Anthony’s body. He pulls at the omega’s cock with quick, rubbing strokes on his head.

Anthony comes in a long, prolonged moment, body arching in a shivering motion that makes Steven stutter before he continues to thrust into Anthony, drawing out his pleasure. It’s only when Anthony’s come lands on his chest that he stops, fingers swiping out to gather a bit for a taste.

After a minute, Anthony knocks a foot at Steven’s ass in a silent gesture to continue.

Steven thrusts into Anthony’s body again, experiencing a slightly different pressure at the looser, relaxed entrance. He sighs into the thrusts, letting the full pressure of the movement envelop him. He bends close to Anthony, and kisses him through the motions. Anthony returns the kiss, sloppy and enthusiastic.

“I’m going to come.” Steven says into Anthony’s lips. Anthony moans.

It’s beautiful, Steven thinks, somewhere far back in his mind where he’s still capable of fully conscious thought, that as Steven’s knot expands, Anthony’s cock fills, hardening again under the weight of Steven’s knot.

As it is, Steven can only think of how pretty Anthony looks, cum running down his chest, body slick with sweat, eyes blown out.

It’s easy to rearrange them into a comfortable position against the furs. Steven cleans Anthony’s chest off with a cloth, cupping Anthony’s cock for a second before moving away when the omega mumbles weakly to hold off.

Steven gets meditative when he’s knotting, so when every immediate concern after popping his knot is handled ( _mate safe, clean, comfortable, warm_ ), he drifts a little.

He can feel his cum pumping into Anthony, can feel the clenching and unclenching of Anthony’s rim, can feel his arm around the omega’s torso, his scent strong where Steven’s nosing his neck. There’s little else, for a while.

When he drifts back to the awareness of his knot deflating, the first thing he hears is Anthony’s lilting voice.

“...Love you, love you, love you, love you...”

It’s a slow, repeating tune, and it takes a moment for the words to parse, but once they do, Steven inhales sharply.

“What?”

Anthony turns. It takes some maneuvering, and Steven goes to pull out but Anthony whines for him to stay, so he stays. Anthony rests his head on Steven’s chest, watching his face.

“Love you.” He says, in that same tone, and then starts up again with the song, “Love you, love you, love you.”

Steven laughs, awed and bright as he leans forward to see how those words taste against his lips. Anthony keeps mumbling the words through the kisses, and Steven hardens under the press of Anthony’s cock to his belly.

He fucks him again, repeating Anthony’s song to him, and they laugh through it the whole time, breaking off into moans when laughing pulls at their groins or makes Anthony tighten around Steven. They come quickly and messily, grinning. Steven’s knot lasts for an hour, and they lay close enough that the boundary between their bodies seem to blur.

Anthony falls asleep on Steven’s chest, heat-addled and exhausted. When his knot deflates, Steven pulls out and soothes Anthony’s whimpering as he moves to quickly clean them up. He comes back to the furs and brings Anthony back to his chest. The quiet silence that follows makes him hopeful, honest.

“One day, after we beat Hydra,” Steven tells Anthony, “We’ll have another bonding ceremony, a proper one, with celebrations, and dancing, and more happiness. More love.”

“And gifts.” Anthony adds, eyes closed and voice slurred.

“And gifts.” Steven promises.

....

It’s stuffy spring.

Steven Hrothgars leans against Anthony Hrothgars, laughing as his mate scowls fiercely at Bucky for his present of a goose.

“I am not killing our bonding gift!” Anthony says, exasperatedly.

“It would be a waste of meat if you didn’t.” Bucky counters.

“Why would you even get me a goose?” Anthony throws his hands in the air, “Forget it, I know exactly why, and the nickname is still not cute nor humourous.”

“It is a little funny.” Steven interjects.

“Steven!” Anthony gasps, turning to him with a shocked expression, “You choose today, the day of our bonding ceremony, to betray me?”

“Good heavens,” Bucky snorts, “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you two for the rest of my life.”

“Fuck off, Bucky, no one asked you to stay.” Anthony says, pushing Steven off when he tries to press kisses against Anthony’s neck.

The goose honks, loudly and disapprovingly at being ignored.

“Oh heavens.” Anthony startles, and it sets Steven off again, laughing raucously. “Shut up, Steve. Good heavens, what am I going to do with _you_?”

The goose dawdles forward before slipping over a bit of ribbon. He honks loudly as he falls. Anthony sputters out a laugh, tossing a hand over his mouth in an attempt to hold it in. Steven kisses him, wetly, on the hand over his mouth.

Anthony glares at him, but doesn’t push away when Steven wraps himself around Anthony, resting his head over the omega’s.

“Okay, Winter, you win.” Anthony says, “We’ll keep this dummy.”

The goose honks again, getting up.

Natasha comes over from the medical tent with Bruce.

“I thought you were joking.” She says, astonished, at Bucky. Bucky grins unabashedly, shrugging.

“That is an actual...goose.” Bruce says.

“Sure is. Scraped myself real badly catching it. Scrappy thing.” Bucky says, rubbing at his arm.

“The image of that does make this situation a bit more acceptable.” Anthony grins.

“I still think Thor gave the best present.” Bruce declares.

“Not sure if he intended that to be a gift for the ceremony itself.” Bucky says.

“Well, if Thor hadn’t knocked out Schmidt, we wouldn’t have defeated Hydra before Spring. I reckon he gets a fair amount of credit.” Steven says.

"If the fucker hadn't come back to life, it wouldn't have been an issue in the first place." Bucky mutters, darkly.

“Hmm.” Natasha tilts her head, “My present is better.”

“Your present?” Steven raises his eyebrow.

“Her present.” Anthony takes Steven’s hand, and draws it into the space under his furs.

Steven freezes at his hand touches a soft fabric, cutting over Anthony’s ribs.

“Really?” He hears Bruce drawl, but Steven’s already flipping Anthony around.

The omega meets his eyes with a smile that promises more.

“Say, thank you Natasha.” Natasha calls as Steven hurriedly ushers Anthony away.

“Thank you Natasha.” Steven intones, eyes fixed on his omega’s mocking smile.

He loses patience after a moment, lifts Anthony into a bridal carry.

“Okay?” He asks.

“Yes.” Anthony says, wrapping his arms around Steven’s shoulders, “Perfect.”

They make their way over to their tent.

....

**Author's Note:**

> I had a half thought-out idea for the 'final battle' so if anyone is interested in reading that, I could write it out. 
> 
> Criticism welcome!


End file.
